


I don't like Sweets

by hetawriter



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: An introduction of chaaracters, Cafe AU, Fluff, Food Writer Au, M/M, Multi, Slow Build, not really a romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hetawriter/pseuds/hetawriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirstein writes for the Shiganshina News as the local food expert. He puts out recipes, talks about the freshest fruits and vegetables to buy at the super market, and will take the occasional self-help letters. However the one thing that he struggles to write about is the restaurant critiques. After a particularly bad spout of writer's block he finds himself at the Rouge Titan, a cafe run by two special young men and their love for food and coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't like Sweets

Jean really hated Wednesdays. It wasn’t because that was the day that he had to take out the garbage, or the day before pay day. It wasn’t because his bills were due the second Wednesday of each and every month. Even though all of these facts were indeed true they were not the reasons that Jean Kirstein hated Wednesdays. It was because this was the day that he had to turn in his restaurant reviews for the city paper to be edited and then published every single week. 

And this particular Wednesday happened to include him starring at a white screen as the cursor blinked before him. Mocking him with all of it’s being. Everything else had been written to the point of perfection. He had an excellent chicken rotisserie recipe, written an article on the merits of why radishes were making a comeback and had replied to a letter about someone who couldn't decorate cookies for whatever reason. However the god damn restaurant review was being a little shit.

“Yes I get it,” Jean said putting out his fifth cigarette today. He was trying to cut back, but his plan to quit always seemed to fall apart on Wednesdays. Maybe he should account for the lack of will power next week.

_Wings of Freedom,_ he began to type into the otherwise blank word document. _The sports bar Wings of Freedom, found on the corner of Adams and 9th street was the pick of the week from my shitty editor who will be firing me after reading that last bit._

Jean erased that everything and tried again.

_On the corner of Adams and 9th street sits a sports bar by the name of Wings of Freedom. It was an average dump that should have been less concerned with the amount of 90 in. screen TVs they could fit in a single location and more focused on the service that was underwhelming at best._

“That sounds stupid,” Jean said shaking his head. He stood up and paced around his apartment, looking for some sign that it was ok to write trash about a sports bar.

“Did I ever tell you I don’t like sports bars?” Jean asked his stuffed bear that his mother had given him for his college graduation gift. He picked up the bear, careful not to jostle the frail sign that the bear held that proclaimed the heart warming message of “Never give up” written in his mother’s handwriting.

“There’s nothing that wrong with them if you yourself liked sports you know. It’s just that when a place smells like too spicy chicken wings and old cigarettes it’s not somewhere that I would like to eat. Sure give me a beer and that place is great. However if you want a meal the place sucks ass.”

The bear appeared to give him no useable advice, as per usual, and Jean set him down to go back to his pacing.

He had eaten at _The Wings of Freedom_ five times in the past week. Thrice by himself and twice he had dragged Connie Springer, the sports writer for the paper and best friend, out with him. Connie had told him that the beer was good and the wings were better than Buffalo Wild Wings- which wasn’t saying much. And so Jean had nothing to say about the place that he knew next to nothing about.

With a groan Jean walked over to his fridge and pulled out the left over wings from his last visit. He looked at one of the offending fiends and brought it up to his nose.

He smelled cyanne pepper, vinegar, garlic- definitely just the powder, no actual garlic involved- and maybe something else. He tried to picture what the smell itself would look like if it had a picture. All he could imagine was the cramped restaurant, filled with loyal patrons and beer. This wing was made to be drunk with beer and surrounded by other screaming patrons as their favorite player scored a touchdown, or got a home run. Any other setting just wouldn’t fit.

He took a bite of the wing and felt the burn of the peppers on his tongue along with the tang of vinegar hitting the back of his throat. He chewed on the chicken wing slowly, trying to absorb all the information the cold piece of chicken could give him. The wings were deep fried, he could tell by the smothered crunch that was left over, even though it was cold. Flour, eggs and then… was it just bread crumbs or was there something else there? Maybe they were dunked in a batter of some sort.

Jean poked at the bone inside the little drum stick and tried to think of ways to describe how alright the wings really were. Jean had had better wings before, but at least they were better than eating at a fast food place that you could find on every other corner in this city.

With a groan Jean put the chicken back into the fridge, washed his hands and sat down at his laptop again.

_Bar and grill the Wings of Freedom is a small place on Adams and 9th street owned by trio Erwin Smith, Hanjii Zöe and Levi Ackerman, childhood friends that shared a dream of owning their own restaurant._

“Not that bad for a beginning,” Jean said to himself remembering the short interview he had with the trio for the article.

_Their house special was a plate of home made buffalo wings that…………………….._

Jean just let his finger rest on the period key until an error box popped up that asked if his keys were stuck.

With a loud groan he sat up and got on his shoes.

“Fuck this,” he yelled getting on his coat and grabbing his wallet and keys.

He slammed the door behind him and stormed out of his apartment, hoping the still cold air would help clear his head. He had been eating nothing but chicken wings for a week now, trying to put together the words just right on the page.

The more he walked through the bitting cold air the more he calmed down from his block.

“It can’t be that hard to write a restaurant review,” Jean said thinking through all of his experiences at the Wings of Freedom. It was a loud place with six large plasma TVs. They had a room for sports and a smoking room in the back. They used a lot of reds and golds for their color scheme and-

Jean groaned as he felt his stomach start to gurgle with discomfort. Maybe eating nothing but buffalo wings for a week was a really bad idea. He didn’t think he had to take a dump, but he doubted this stomach ache was going to go away any time soon.

Jean looked around in case he found himself with a bad case of the runs and needed a quick escape and saw a cafe across the street. Without thinking Jean ran over to the cafe and sat in the back corner closest to the window. He didn’t feel he was going to get sick here but it was better safe than sorry at this point. He put his head down on the table hoping that the cool surface would make him feel better. Ugh, he was really starting to hate that wing place.

“Hello,” a pleasant voice said. Jean looked up only to see a young man wearing a light blue polo with the words “Rouge Titan” embroidered in red thread with a black outline.

“Welcome to the Rogue Titan,” the man said. “My name is Marco and I’ll be your server. The menu is written on the back wall but if you’d like a printed menu we have those too.”

Jean glanced up and saw that the back wall of the cafe was a giant blackboard. The daily specials seemed to be written in pink and yellow chalk with a more permanent menu written in white ink. It felt like a newer version of a cafe that the owners had taken a spin on. Something that would appeal to the younger crowds more than the older ones and in Jean’s opinion an interesting decision.

“We also have some cherry pie that came straight out of the oven not five minutes ago and some home made vanilla ice cream if you’d be interested,” Marco said.

Jean actually looked at the guy’s face for the first time. His smile seemed genuine and he had dark freckles running across his dark complexion. The way the guy held himself screamed co-owner. He had seen the posture and certain twinkle in his eyes that told him that this man didn’t have full ownership and was perfectly content with that. He had seen it millions of times through hundreds of interviews over the years.

“I don’t like sweets,” Jean said sitting up slowly. “Actually I’d just like a tea if that’s alright.” He squinted at the blackboard, cursing the fact that he forgot his glasses back home. Being near sighted didn’t effect him too often but it was still good to have his glasses on him for instances like this. “Uhhh… camomile peppermint sounds nice.”

“Excellent choice,” Marco said with a grin. “I’ll have that out for you in just a moment.” He turned around and walked behind the counter that lined the back wall to prepare Jean’s tea.

Jean put his head back in the table and only looked up when he heard the sound of a cup being set down. He looked up to see a cream colored tea cup with a curled handle and a navy blue wave painted around the cup. He brought the cup up to his lips and took a short sip, trying not to burn his tongue.

“Sorry, what’s all this?” he asked looking at the set up that Marco had done. He had set down cream, sugar and a metal tea pot- an usual arrangement for a cup of tea, but it didn’t end there. Marco had also set down a plate with three pastries that had seven blueberries sitting on each of them. “I didn’t order this.”

“I know,” Marco said. “But you weren’t looking too good when you came in here so I thought I would give you a little something extra. Of course you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.  It’s on the house if you do chose not to eat them though.”

Jean wrapped his fingers around the cup and looked at the tiny deserts in confusion.

“What are they?”

“Blueberry tartlets,” Marco said. “They were made with a lemon ricotta filling and the blueberries on top were tossed with lemon juice and some sugar. They aren’t sweet actually- the aim is to bring out the natural flavors of blueberries and lemon.”

“How do I eat them?” Jean asked confused.

“Just pick one up and take a bite,” Marco said with a stifled, sweet laugh. “You don’t have to put the whole thing in your mouth. Just take your time and enjoy. Or don’t.”

Marco turned around to go back to whatever it was he was doing before Jean came in and left.

Jean starred at the tarts for one minute… Then two… Then three… Five minutes passed before he set down his tea and picked up the tartlet.

The crust was a nice golden color that was held together nicely in his hands. The top berries were small, and if Jean had to take a guess he was going to say they would be sour. He pushed aside one berry and saw a pale cream underneath with small flecks of gold- lemon zest.

He took a tentative bite and was brought back to summers riding bikes in the suburbs. He remembered the time and he and Connie had found a blueberry bush near the park and had spent the entire day eating the berries straight off the vine and trying to tell the difference between the mouth-watering tart berries and the succulent sweet berries.

He tasted the lemon and blueberries that Marco had promised him, only slightly sweet and exactly to his taste. His stomach settled as he ate and drank the wonderful snack.

Jean glanced around the cafe and actually took it all in for the first time. The place had a nice blue color palette that seemed to be a nice ease in. Three walls were colored denim with navy booths and the wood work was a dark maple that matched from the backs of the chairs to the picture frames on the walls. There were some artistic pictures of the ocean and lake fronts from around the world and a few of what Jean assumed must have been the owners together.

When Marco came back for the plates Jean stopped him from leaving right away.

“I normally don’t eat pastries but that was very good, I’ll have to insist on paying for it,” he said pulling out his wallet.

“Nonsense,” Marco said shaking his head. “I meant it when I said that the tartlets were on the house. I’m glad you enjoyed them though.”

“Well then could you give my compliments to the baker here?”

“Message received loud and clear,” Marco winked and held his fingers up in an ok symbol.

Jean chuckled to himself and pulled out money to pay and left the cash on the table, leaving a generous tip. He left without another word to his server.

* * *

 

An hour later Jean found himself sitting in front of his computer with words spewing out of his fingers like a toddler learning to speak. The cold air must have helped his mind clear up out of his usual funk as he was able to send in the article on time and in Jean’s humbled opinion perfect.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out behind him with a comfortable groan. Maybe it was that cafe that he stopped at. What was it called again? Something about titans or whatever. Jean simply shrugged his shoulders and get read for bed. Tomorrow he’d get an email from the editor thanking him for his work and he’d have to start the writing process all over again from top to bottom.


End file.
